Chapter 6 Silas
How did a devil sleep like an angel? I set the white bouquet of lilies down on the dresser and make my way into the room. Usually, I would pay someone to do this. Usually, that person was Axel Reyes. Despite his psychopathic tendencies, he was the only person I trusted to do the job.
Every year, I leave the same delicate white flowers for the girl who haunted my dreams. Only, she wasn’t a girl anymore, and she was far from delicate. I hadn’t seen her in seven years until today. I saved myself from that torture. The moment she stepped out of that van dressed in all black, designer shades, and red bottom shoes, my heart stopped beating.
She had matured in ways my own memory failed to imagine. I run my knife gently over her jawline and listen as she lets out a soft moan in her drunken sleep. I watched as the same guy she took to the compound carried her in. The one who stopped her from killing Hewey Contreras. If that guy was anything more to her than a guard dog, then I had no problem putting a pet cemetery in my backyard.
I look back down at Thalia, or should I say, La Viuda. I laugh at her infamous nickname. I had been hiding out in Tamaulipas the first time I heard the name. The goth buchona, who had assassinated various men in the most savage of ways. One story claimed she dismembered a rival cartel member’s dick and forced him to suck on it before she slit his throat. That should turn me off, but the thought of her anywhere near my dick had the opposite effect.
I run the knife down her neck to the top of her breasts. An asset she paid for, but I’m not complaining. We did have the right to each other’s assets through marriage. I pull the top of her dress down to reveal said shared assets. They are well proportioned to her body. I run the knife over her nipple, and she lets out a small whimper. I run the knife back to her shoulder and let the blade slide softly over her arms, both covered in black and gray ink. They reveal an array of different images. I run the knife down the front of her body, right to her pussy, and stop. All this was mine.
My perky tits, my pussy, and my wife. Toda mía . I run my knife back up to the gold necklace that reads “Consuelo” and yank it off. She is in for a rude awakening because she is not a Consuelo , she is a Macias, and soon enough, I will remind her of it.
We once played a game where we competed to see who was the most notorious gangster, the better of two evils. Now that this was real life, she would have no chance of winning against me. Thalia Isabel Macias was about to meet her match. I press my index and middle finger to my lips, then press them to her lips.
Sweet dreams, diablita.
Thalia
I wake up to the wet feeling of something on my cheek. I slowly open my eyes to see Guapo smelling me. Guapo is Ariella’s hideous dog. No one is sure what breed he is, but he looks like an overgrown rat. I groan and pull the covers over my head.
“Wakey, wakey,” Ariella sing-songs. Morning people are a mystery to me. I groan and pull myself up from the pillow. Immediately, I can feel the throbbing in my head and crash back down onto the bed.
“What time is it?” My head is already throbbing. I let my eyes adjust to the light as Guapo snuggles next to me. I can’t deny him the affection he wants. He may be the world’s ugliest dog, but he is still family.
“It’s seven thirty! Here, I brought you a coffee.” I take my time and sit up, reaching for the styrofoam cup Ariella offers me. I expect to meet the velvety taste of my favorite dark roast, but instead, I meet the bitter taste of vodka.
“What the hell is that?!” I set the cup down, but stand up too quickly. I grab the post of my bed to steady myself. Ariella takes a sip of her cup and frowns.
“Don Mario was handing out lattes in the break room, so I grabbed us one.” I take a deep breath in and rub my temples.
“ Aye, prima. Those are his homemade pajaretes .” Pajaretes are a well-known drink among ranchers in Mexico. It consists of vodka, fresh cow’s milk, Abuelita’s chocolate, and occasionally, coffee. Don Mario is set on reviving the drink here at Calavera Hotels at the cost of driving Enrique mad.
“Aren’t pajaretes supposed to have chocolate milk in them?” Ariella says before wiping her tongue with a napkin.
“Don Mario’s are ten percent chocolate milk and ninety percent vodka.”
“Ugh! This is the thanks I get for trying to help out a small business.” I laugh and shake my head. When I look around the room, my eyes fall to a fresh bouquet of lilies on the vanity.
“Oh my god. Is it you?” I jump off the bed and go to retrieve them. She was here every year for my birthday, usually with her entire family, but they opted to stay home this year. I press the arrangement to myself and breathe them in. They smell like everything is going to be okay.
I turn around and Ariella stands there, confused. She shakes her head, then hands me a card. “No. But I do have this for you. It’s from that hot musico.” Damn. I never got around to screaming his name in the bushes.
“Feliz Cumplea?os, Preciosa. Call me so we can celebrate,” I read aloud before I gag. Only two things come to mind when a man calls me precious. One involves a sixteen-year-old verbally abused Claireece, and the second image is of Gollum.
“Did I do anything stupid last night?” I ask. Ariella’s eyes shift as she thinks.
“Not anything out of the ordinary. Oh, but you did tell Genesis, and I quote, to ‘loosen that pussy.’”
Well, that would require an apology text later. Genesis is as innocent as Ari when it comes to talking about sex. As Conejo’s eldest daughter, she had been raised to become a wife, a bargaining tool. I am crude with my close group of friends and family because they knew me. It is never my intention to embarrass or make someone feel uncomfortable like that. Especially not someone as sweet as Gen.
I rush to get ready for work while Ariella makes us coffee in the kitchen. I notice one of my necklaces is missing when I get out of the shower. I always wear the same two gold necklaces religiously. One is a sacred gold San Cipriano medal that my Abuela gave me. San Cipriano was the Patron Saint for witches. I rub my fingers over the chain.
The other necklace was a gift from Patricio at my first communion; a gold plaque with “Consuelo” engraved into it. I frantically rush into my room and search under the covers for it. I never took it off.
“Thalia, we have to go!” Ariella screams from the living room.
I throw on some baggy black cargo pants, my tennis shoes, and a plain black tee. Fuck. I know Ariella is going to gasp, but I am gonna have to force a casual Friday on a Wednesday. Thank god she moved down to help me. I am a mess, but Patricio still thought it was a good idea to leave me in charge. Since her degree is in finance, it only seemed fitting to offer her an internship with me as the new Chief Financial Advisor.
I go to grab my phone, but I can’t find it, either. What the fuck is going on? First my necklace, and now my phone. I search around my room one last time but come up empty. I had blacked out last night, so it’s possible I lost it somewhere along the way home. The conclusion does little to settle my anxiety. I look around my room and take in the energy of it. I always trust my intuition, and right now, I can feel that something isn’t right.